


A Letter Lost

by SBlackmane



Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, Short One Shot, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-11
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 20:51:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9289148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SBlackmane/pseuds/SBlackmane
Summary: What if the hero failed? What if Martin Septim died before he was able to don the Amulet of Kings? What could happen to the world?A letter from the Hero of Kvatch details the answer to such questions.(May eventually expand and be part of a series, but for now, a one-shot I couldn't resist writing)





	

 

     None of us could have known just how important the Septim bloodline would be. None of us did until it was far too late. When the Scrolls unraveled and we saw time as it should have been, we gazed upon a better world than this. But it was far too late to turn from our path. It was far too late for me as well.

     If I had been able to save Martin, he could have shattered the gates and drove the evil from our land. But I failed him. I will live out the rest of my days in regret, bear my burdens, and grieve my loss in hiding. Should anyone find this letter and read it, know that I hold myself to blame for the world so driven to its knees.

     Cyrodiil was the first to fall to Daedric armies, at the hands of Mehrunes Dagon, when we failed to close shut the gates of Oblivion. The fall of the Imperial City marked the beginning of the Fourth Era. In this Era, legion after legion of creatures poured out of the gates, and soon the Empire and its allies were overrun. Those who did not fall in the initial battle were later enslaved, or driven out, fleeing south to find sanctuary with the southern elves.

     For a time the south warred with Dagon, but eventually was lost. We had no hope of regaining Imperial soil, so we sought allies elsewhere. To the sands we fled, and to the marsh, only to learn that other dark Lords were entering our realm from theirs. Soon the provinces of Elsweyr and the Black Marsh fell as well.

     Far in the north, beyond the Pale Pass, in the frozen mountains of Skyrim, the Daedric Lord Molag Bal also sought to claim a piece of Mundus for his own, raped and pillaged the lands with his armies of undead. The war spread east to High Rock and it was not for many years that there was hope for freedom.

     Led by the clan of Volkihar, the fiercest of his loyal subjects, Molag's armies could feed on the living, and upon death, turn the corpses to undead, and their armies grew. Strong and powerful they were, with only one weakness. Magnus himself that gaze upon us from the heavens, and his cleansing light.

     The first to drive back his armies was a follower of Meridia, given an artifact called Dawnbreaker, with which she could hunt the vampires and slay them while they slept in their crypts, hiding from the sun. But she alone fought the battle against hundreds, alone and out matched, as many began freely offering themselves to Molag in service to be spared death. The rebellion was fruitless, until men of the Reach made a pact with their Lord Hircine, who in turn blessed them for their loyal services by turning them into beasts.

     These beasts were in equal form to the vampires by strength and skill as well as their lust for blood, but where Molag's servants must flee from the sun, beasts could roam the day as well as night. They called themselves Hircine's Hunters and alligned themselves with Meridia's Champion.

     The people of Skyrim, whose prayers to the Divines went unanswered, also sought Hircine's favor, turning to the Witches of Glenmoril for aid. They sent their strongest warriors, the descendants of Ysgramor's Companions, and chained themselves to the beastblood as well. For every year that men haplessly fought Molag Bal, Hircine's wolves cut down the undead in half the time, and reclaimed the north. They defeated his army, and drove clan Volkihar back into hiding, from whence they came.

     News of their victory spread south, and soon others made pacts with their Daedric Princes, driving back malevolent Daedra. Though none could force Dagon from his seat of power in the Imperial City. But a new heirarchy was beginning to form, and a new age of worship was coming to life.

     More and more of the societies of Tamriel turned to the Daedra in their realms. The dread Malacath rose with the Orcs as their God-King, Azura rose with the Dark Elves, as well as many others. The worship of the old gods forgotten, like the ancient Dragon Priests in their Nordic tombs in the north.

     I still remember how the world was before Mehrunes Dagon's armies swept across Tamriel. The world was flawed, broken, and unjust, but it was better. I swear by the holiest of Divines that it was. The Septim Empire ruled so pleasantly from its capital province of Cyrodiil, and we took this time of peace for granted.

     Now, the world is sundered, and only those who serve their masters that rule the mortal realm with an iron fist yet live. Those that prayed to the old Gods have been struck down, along with the teachings of the Divines. Only those willing to serve the Daedra, in both this life and the next, have been spared.

     As for me, I have left this world far behind, and cannot look back. I cannot live in a world so different from the one I remember. There is no place for me in it. Without the great prevails of justice, mercy, and compassion, I can no longer live. I was a hero once, a Champion of this world who sought fame and glory. But now I seek only freedom from this shattered realm.

     I met a man once whose ancestors were Blades, who told me of a fantastical story he was told by his father, who was told this by his father before. As I well knew, the Blades were believed to once be dragon slayers, long before they served the Empire, before they fell to Dagon's minions. But he served up a tale of dragons once existing, ruling the world, long before the Daedra ever did. He spoke of them returning to Tamriel one day, said it was prophesied in an Elder Scroll.

     I hardly believed this tale, but as I write this now I hope and pray that it is true. I wonder if it would be preferable to be ruled by a dragon than by a dark Lord. I know the power of the Scrolls, though even I have yet to fully understand them, I know they hold many secrets mortals may never truly comprehend. Perhaps the Gods have a plan, and only time will tell.

     The great dragon Akatosh could then bestow his favor on an otherwise unworthy world and drive back the nightmares of Oblivion. And one day, perhaps though not a day in my life time, but one day before the End of Times arrives, someone truly worthy will don the Amulet of Kings and rightfully rule Tamriel with fire breathing beasts at their side, like the ancient Nords of Old.

     But perhaps they'll rise up as well, like the brave few from the fabled Dragon Wars. Though I will never know. I am already dying. My time has already come. I can only pray that if this letter is found, then whoever reads it is worthy of what lies in my crypt. Until then, I pray to Akatosh for his forgiveness, and pray the ends do justify the means.

 -Ancus Drevinisi  
the Hero of Kvatch  
Second of Last Seed  
4E 58


End file.
